


Dear Lovey Hart

by ivyfic



Series: After School Special [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prostitution, Underage Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-23
Updated: 2007-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyfic/pseuds/ivyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"People I've fucked," Sam said nonchalantly. Dean almost did a spit-take. "I have had sex with eight people. Lifetime total." He waved his hand in the air over his head, probably trying to show the number eight on his fingers, then gave up and let his arm drop like a rock back to his side. He scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard. "Make that nine…no…eight and a half."</i></p><p><i>Dean rolled his eyes.</i></p><p><i>"Your turn," Sam said. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Lovey Hart

**Author's Note:**

> Title from another [after school special](http://www.tvdvdreviews.com/after74.html). I swear, I couldn't make this stuff up.

"Seven."

"What?"

"No, eight."

They were in some dive bar, in one of the back booths. Sam had had enough tequila to no longer be sitting up straight. He was riding so low that his knees were wedged against the bench across from him and his butt must have been almost completely off the seat. Dean looked at Sam's head, barely clearing the table, and thought about how fun Sammy was going to be in the morning.

"Eight," Sam repeated emphatically.

"What are you talking about?" Dean was sober by comparison, despite the shot glasses lined up in front of him. He'd helped Sam finish off the bottle. Or was this the second bottle? Didn't matter.

"People I've fucked," he said nonchalantly. Dean almost did a spit-take. "I have had sex with eight people. Lifetime total." He waved his hand in the air over his head, probably trying to show the number eight on his fingers, then gave up and let his arm drop like a rock back to his side. He scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard. "Make that nine…no…eight and a half."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Your turn," Sam said.

"My turn? What do you mean my turn?"

"How many people have you had sex with?"

"No," Dean said, sitting up straighter. "We are not playing this. You're wasted."

"But I told you," Sam whined.

"I didn't ask, so it doesn't count." Dean poured himself more tequila.

"C'mon. Look, I know you've seen a lot more of the promised land than me, just—how many?"

Dean whacked Sam's leg and was gratified to see Sam almost fall out of his seat and have to haul himself back up. This time he slid sideways so his head was propped in the corner. He was giving Dean puppy dog eyes.

"Oh for—I don't count, OK? It's not like I carve notches in my bedpost."

"Bet you would if you had a bedpost." Sam snorted and reached vaguely for the bottle of tequila. Dean moved it out of his reach. "Ballpark figure."

Dean heaved a deep sigh. "Seventy-two. Happy?"

"Liar." Sam groused. He stopped talking and Dean hoped that meant he'd fallen into a drunken stupor and would let it drop. "High school. How many in high school."

"Don't remember."

Sam scoffed. "No fucking way I'm buying that. Just high school—how many."

"I told you I don't count, Sammy."

"I'm your brother, you're not breaking some gentlemanly code by telling me. Besides, you always kiss and tell." Sam fixed his unfocused eyes on him.

"Don't know."

"Give me a break."

"I don't know Sam!"

Sam leered. "Wait, wait—you're not one of those fifty percent of teenagers who graduate high school a _virgin_ are you?"

"What?" Dean looked affronted.

"You are! You so are!" Sam crowed, then tried to look sympathetic. "You know, there's no shame in waiting for the right girl." He cracked a smile. "Or guy. Or blow-up doll. Or pumpkin."

"Pumpkin?" Dean rolled his eyes. "You _know_ I didn't make it to graduation a virgin." Dean raised his eyes suggestively.

"Come on!" Sam whined.

"That's it," Dean said, pushing Sam's legs so he could get out of the booth. "You're drunk and I'm leaving."

Sam looked hurt. "You're leaving?"

"I went through your terrible two's once. You want to relive them, I want to be out of range." Dean started toward the front of the bar.

"Oh come on, Dean! Don't be such a baby!"

"Good night, Sam," Dean said, and stepped outside.

Sam stared at the door for a long time after Dean left, waiting for his equilibrium to return. It was a stupid thing to bring up—tales of sexual exploits were something for drunken games of never-have-I-ever at sorority parties, not hanging at bars with your brother. But Sam couldn't help it, he was curious. Dean was an open book about so many things but locked up tight about so many others, he thought this would be a safe line of questioning. It's not like Dean ever shut up about the women he screwed before. But this thing between them was so undefined, maybe he'd just crossed a line.

Nah, Dean was probably just annoyed.

Sam slid down till he was lying flat on the bench, staring at the ceiling. By the time the bartender came by to throw him out, he'd forgotten about it completely.

~*~

"Wow." Sam's arm was across his eyes, blocking out the late afternoon sun. He let it slide to the bed bonelessly. "Wow."

Dean pulled off with a smirk. "You said that."

"Well…just…" Sam trailed off, then continued reverently. " _Wow_."

Dean rested his chin on Sam's hip bone and waited for him to regain higher brain function.

"I mean—God." Sam tried again.

Dean prowled up the bed until he was nuzzling Sam's neck. "It's alright, you can call me Dean."

Sam pushed at his shoulder half-heartedly, but he was still gazing dazedly up at the ceiling. Dean pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw and moved appreciatively when Sam stroked his hand down his back.

Dean blinked slowly, ready to get on with his part of the program. Sam turned to him and placed his other hand on Dean's jaw. "God, I thought that only happened in porn." He nipped at Dean's mouth and rolled toward him. Dean smiled devilishly at him. "Or, like, you have to be a pro." Sam went for Dean's mouth again, but this time Dean tilted his head away and Sam just got his cheek.

Sam went to work on Dean's jaw, then moved over to his ear, getting into it again. It was a surprise when Dean pulled away a moment later and started toward the bathroom. "What?" Sam asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Nothin'," Dean said, but Sam was still looking at his retreating back.

"Dean—you never say no to sex."

Dean shrugged. "You just killed the mood." The bathroom door shut between them and Sam heard the faucet running.

He flopped back on the bed with a sigh. Dean could be so…Dean, sometimes.

Dean came out of the bathroom ten minutes later and they got right back to it, like the tiff hadn't happened at all. But after that, Sam was watching. And he started noticing things.

~*~

For example, they always got two queen beds, every motel room they went to. At first, Sam thought this was keeping up appearances. Dean wasn't exactly out and proud, and even if he had been, there was a legitimate need for secrecy when you were sleeping with your own brother.

So two beds, okay, no problem, as long as they only used one. But they didn't. When Sam had first slid under the quilt on his brother's bed, first reached out to him, there had been a major freak out. Second time he did it, Dean had freaked out too, but he'd given in first. So Sam was willing to cut him a little slack with the small stuff as long as the big stuff—like the fucking—kept right on going.

That was a year ago. Dean _still_ kicked Sam out of bed as soon as they were done. Every single time. Didn't matter if it was quick and sloppy or long and sweet or if they were exhausted and had nowhere better to be, Sam barely had time to enjoy his afterglow before Dean would be pushing at his shoulder or digging his foot into Sam's hip until Sam got up and crossed to the other bed. And if Sam didn't, Dean would.

Sam had finally decided that it was just the way Dean was—he didn't do cuddling. Fine. If he wanted to be able to sleep spread eagle across his bed without bumping into his brother, whatever. Sam had grown to like sleeping curled around someone else when he'd been with Jess. Sometimes he wished Dean would let him do the same thing. But this was the line Dean wanted to put down, so Sam put up with it.

The next time Dean kicked him out, though, he started thinking about that little undefined worry he'd had ever since the drunken attempt at divining Dean's sexual history. He didn't want to make a big deal about it, but something just didn't sit right.

~*~

A fortnight later they were investigating a haunting along a wharf in Toledo. Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road, creeping along under the street lamps. Sam could see figures up ahead, silhouetted against the light. "Okay," Sam said, reaching for his door handle. "One of them might have seen something. I'll—" Dean grabbed his arm and kept him from opening the door.

"No offense, dude, but they're not going to talk to you." Dean was looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

"What?" Sam whined. "I am way better at digging info out of strangers than you are and you know it."

"Sam, hate to break it to you, but they're hookers. You look like some poor dude bored with his fiancée's vanilla sex." Sam knew he had a pissy look on his face, but he couldn't help it. But hey—Dean was calling himself the vanilla fiancée. He'd be able to tease Dean about that for weeks. "The only thing they're going to talk to you about is the price."

"And you'll do better."

"What can I say?" Dean said with a cocky grin. "Chicks know a man with experience when they see him."

"Right. You've had experience with hookers?" Sam was leading Dean on, they both knew it, but if Dean was going to go out there and imply that he'd picked up hookers before…

Dean looked at him, faking hurt. "Sam, I'm surprised at you. You think I've _ever_ had to pay for it?" There was that cocky grin again, and Sam could feel the color rise in his face. He knew his brother had more experience than him—a _lot_ more. And of course Dean wasn't willing to share all the details. He knew it was stupid, but he sometimes wondered of Dean rated Sam's performance against everyone else. The less Dean shared when Sam asked, the more he worried. And this was just so bitchy of Dean to rub his face in it.

Dean flicked off the engine, then climbed out of the car. Sam watched him sullenly as he made his way down the pier. When he got about a hundred paces from the car, his walk changed. It was subtle, but there was something in the way he swiveled his hips, just a little bit looser, that Sam hadn't seen before. Sam had watched Dean approach a lot of women in bars, but never with this slink he had going now. It wasn't flirtatious—it was just like all that sensuality Dean had in the bedroom, for Sam, was on display. It made Sam uncomfortable, knowing everyone else could look at Dean and see it.

Dean was right; he didn't have any problem talking to the hookers. Sam watched them chatting, Dean leaning on a streetlamp, one girl looking up at him. She waved and a couple of others came over, but none of them came too close, the way Sam had expected they would. It was like they weren't even considering Dean as a john. Last he checked, his brother was a fully-functioning man. Sam had thought the hookers would be all over him. This just didn't make sense.

~*~

Sam was being ridiculous, right? This feeling he had that something wasn't quite normal with Dean—it was absurd. Nothing was normal with Dean. Dean, his demon-hunting, wanted-by-the-FBI older brother that—oh, yeah—he happened be in love with.

But the feeling just wouldn't quit and, like an aching tooth, Sam couldn't help worrying at it. He kept darting glances at Dean until Dean looked up from the menu and pulled a face at him. It wasn't like he could ask Dean what was going on, Dean would never tell him.

He should just drop it.

He caught himself staring at Dean again, wondering.

~*~

Dean broke away from the kiss and rolled onto his stomach, arching his back. He stretched languorously, rubbing his hips against the sheets, and pulling a pillow under his head. Sam's eyes fixed at the tanned skin at the base of Dean's spine, then traced to the crease where Dean's ass met the top of his thigh. Dean sighed, rolling his head against the pillow, and spread his legs.

Sam was completely in the moment one second—ready, willing and oh so eager—and the next he'd been thrown out of it completely. The way Dean moved, it reminded him of that night last week with the hookers. Dean's walk, just as sensual as he was right now. The way they talked to him, the way Dean looked like he was a part of that world. And all that undefined worry coalesced right then, when he definitely had better things to think about.

Sam tried to shake it off. He stretched his arm out and caressed Dean's shoulder, but he could feel his enthusiasm waning, even when Dean gave an approving growl.

It was just—maybe if he just reassured himself he was worrying about nothing, he could finally forget about it. "Dean," he said softly.

"Come on, Sam," Dean pleaded, voice muffled by the pillow he was curling his arms around.

"So those hookers—" God, it sounded like the set-up for a joke.

"What?" Dean said breathlessly. He seemed to realize Sam wasn't continuing and pulled his thoughts together. "That was last week."

"I know, but the thing is they didn't look interested in you. And I mean, everyone's interested in you—"

"I know who I wish was interested in me right now." Dean ground out, twisting his head to glare at Sam with one eye.

Sam just couldn't let it rest. "No, but I mean, it was weird that they—"

"God would you quit it with the hookers? If you're so fixated on hookers, we can go and get you one, see what you're missing. Just be careful where you put your dick, I mean, you never know where they've been, right?" Dean's voice had an edge to it—Sam had completely lost control of this conversation.

"Why are you so pissy?" Sam snapped out.

"Why aren't we fucking right now?" Dean snapped back. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself till he was sitting facing Sam.

"What—you can talk about porn when we fuck, but I can't talk about hookers? Is there some rule book we're going by, here?"

"A—that's reference material and b—just shut up. Not talking now." With that Dean lunged forward, almost knocking Sam off the bed, his head and shoulders hanging off the end of the mattress. Dean's tongue felt so good in his mouth that Sam kind of forgot what they'd been fighting about.

~*~

Next morning when Sam woke up, he was still lying in the same position, head at the foot of the bed, feet near the headboard. Dean was sipping a cup of coffee at the motel room's tiny desk, another cup sitting next to him. It felt like a normal morning until Sam remembered that quick flash of anger the night before. He'd obviously hit yet another thing Dean just didn't talk about. Sometimes it drove him up the fucking wall, trying to figure out what was going through his brother's head, especially since this thing between them had started.

But right now Sam was almost grateful. If Dean pretended everything was normal, Sam could too and this nagging feeling would go away.

"You up yet, princess?" Dean asked, not looking up from the local newspaper.

Sam grunted.

Yeah, if Dean could let it go, he could too.

~*~

One month, three hunts and seven states later, Sam and Dean lay on one of the queen beds in their motel room, propped up by a stack of pillows against the paisley wallpaper, watching an Ed Wood marathon. It had just started, kicking off with the atrocious _Glen or Glenda_.

"Dude, is that supposed to be the devil?" Dean snorted around his beer. "And what's with the fucking couch? I thought you said this was about a 'transvestite's struggle for acceptance.'"

"It is. C'mon, doesn't it just pull your heart strings?"

"Shut up," Dean said and smacked him in the shoulder.

"You know his girlfriend broke up with him when she saw him in drag in this?"

"Shit," Dean said, then subsided into silent watching.

"Hey," Sam said after a bit. "You remember that chick you picked up in Salem? When you conned your way into a bar with a fake ID?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Only _she_ was really a _he_ ," Sam couldn't help cracking up.

"I should never have told you about that."

Sam kept laughing. "Yeah, well, you were an idiot as a teenager."

Sam expected a rejoinder, but Dean was just looking at the screen thoughtfully. _Bride of the Monster_ had started before Dean spoke again. "Do you remember Sioux Falls?"

"Um…" Sam said, staring at the ceiling. Sam tended to catalogue places by "the place with the werewolf" or "where Dad got thrown down the stairs by a poltergeist," not so much by town name.

"Sixth grade, for you," Dean said. His voice sounded completely normal, so why did Sam feel like Dean was waiting for something?

"Yeah," Sam said. "Wait—that was where Dad hauled us out of bed in the middle of the night and burned asphalt all the way to Pastor Jim's. God, I don't think I ever saw him that mad," Sam said with a laugh. He looked over at Dean. Dean was staring at his face intently, a look he'd never seen before in his brother's eyes. "You know, you never did tell me what you did to piss him off."

Dean broke the eye contact and glanced back at the screen and shrugged. "I was an idiot as a teenager."

Sam looked at him curiously. It didn't seem like he was about to elaborate. "So…" Sam said. "Sioux Falls." He closed his eyes and tried to remember everything he could about that one particular school. Most of the details blended in with a dozen other schools till he couldn't be sure what happened where. "You were sick a lot that year. Dad thought you had strep."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly.

"Not strep?" Sam guessed.

"No," Dean drew out, pursing his lips. He started fiddling with the label on the beer bottle, like a nervous habit.

Sam raised his eyebrows.

Dean cleared his throat and looked up at the screen. "Dad caught me turning a trick," he said calmly, then slugged back the rest of his beer like he was trying to stop saying anything else.

Sam had been starting to take a sip and in his surprise he choked on it, tepid beer tickling the back of his throat until he had to spew it out all over the coverlet or risk it coming out his nose. He hacked, trying to catch his breath, and in his flailing managed to knock himself off of the mattress into the space between the two beds. He dropped the bottle and it rolled under the other bed, dribbling beer. When he clawed his way back up, Dean had opened another beer and was stripping the new label like nothing unusual had happened.

"You turned _tricks_?" Sam squeezed out, his eyes watering. He hadn't gotten his equilibrium back yet. "Not like magic tricks, like actual real trick tricks? Like…"

"Yup," Dean said.

"Jesus christ. Jesus _christ_." Sam sat back on the bed, turning to Dean. He tried to ask for some clarification but the only thing that came out was a whispered, "Jesus christ."

Dean cleared his throat a little and stared pointedly at the screen. Sam tried to remember his brother back then. It was funny how when he thought about Dean and him growing up, he always thought of Dean like he was now: self-confident, cocky, sure about everything. But back then, he must have been different. All Sam could picture was his brother in a leather jacket and flannel, delighting in telling Sam about the pleasures waiting for him with the fairer sex. He was like Steve McQueen, like Clint Eastwood. He was Sam's hero, his role model, so much cooler than Sam could ever hope to be, and the idea of Dean letting anyone do anything like what he was implying just didn't fit at all.

"You were fifteen!" Sam finally couldn't stop himself from saying.

"I was sixteen," Dean quickly corrected.

"So? That's supposed to make it better?"

Dean shrugged.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to remember more about that one night, like so many other late-night departures. "You had a black eye."

"Yup."

"Did the—um—the other guy do that?" Sam wasn't really sure he wanted to know if he had. The mental images were already overwhelming.

"Nope. Dad beat the crap out of the john. Caught me on a backswing."

"Dad punched you?"

"Knocked me flat."

Sam looked at his brother's profile, for the first time noticing the nervous trembling in his jaw. Dean was trying so hard to look like he didn't care about this. Sam could see straight through him now, but he didn't think he would've back when he was in sixth grade, in Sioux Falls. Their dad had never really known what was going on with them. Nobody would have noticed what Dean was doing, not if Sam didn't. It made him wonder how many other things he'd never noticed.

Dean laughed nervously. "It was just some blowjobs. It's no big deal."

Sam couldn't stop himself from laughing, though he wasn't finding any of this funny. He swiped his hand over his face. "So when I said I thought only professionals could do that, I really was right."

"Hey," Dean said defensively. "First time a guy grabs your ears like jug handles, you learn real fast how to—"

"Whoa! Whoa! Stop. Please, just stop talking."

"You've been all weird lately, I thought maybe you figured it out." Dean said.

"No! I didn't know. I—why would you think I'd think that? I mean it's just—what the fuck, Dean?" Sam yelled. He hadn't even noticed when he'd gotten off the bed, but he was walking between Dean and the TV now, making his brother look at him.

"Well," Dean said, keeping his eyes fixed on his beer bottle. "Dad knew, Pastor Jim knew. Guess you're the only one who knows now." He took a sip. "You and some middle-aged perverts in Sioux Falls."

Sam could hear it in his brother's voice, that edge of the teenager he'd been then. He couldn't stop the images flashing through his mind now, like a film on continuous loop. Dean, pretending to be so much older and harder than he was, pushed to his knees in some alley by a series of looming silhouetted figures: paunchy, aging men just using Dean, getting off on the lips of a boy young enough to be their son. And other things were clicking together, like pieces of a puzzle that he'd never known he was missing. Dean's sore throats and what must have been their cause, all those nights Dean snuck out and Sam covered for him, thinking he was going to see some girl. God, Sam thought he'd been doing Dean a favor by hiding it from their Dad.

"I gotta go," Sam said, not sure of anything, just that he couldn't look at the vulnerable expectation on his brother's face, like he was waiting for Sam to hit him like Dad had. "I gotta go." Then Sam turned and left the motel room.

~*~

Sam ended up spending the whole night sitting right outside the room with his back against the door. He didn't want to run off and make Dean freak out, but he needed a little distance. He wasn't sure he could look at Dean without wringing his neck right now. How stupid could Dean be? No wonder Dad had been so angry. Sam was pissed and this was something that happened over a decade ago.

By the time the streetlights were turning off and the first grey light of dawn was creeping up, Sam's anger had faded into a shaking fatigue. Sam almost felt stupid for reacting so badly about this—Dean had obviously dealt with all of it a long time ago. But Sam couldn't help wondering if the way Dean constantly pushed him away had something to do with those dirty alleys back in South Dakota.

Sam hated the walls Dean built around himself, and now he wondered if Dean hated them too. Maybe Dean just needed someone to know, now that everyone else was gone. And he'd chosen Sam. Suddenly Sam felt a little sick with the weight of that responsibility. For once Dean needed something from him. Even though Dean never asked outright, Sam thought he knew what it was.

Sam cracked the door open slowly. Dean looked sound asleep on his stomach in the middle of the bed. The sight of a bed made Sam feel even stupider for spending the night on cold asphalt. Sam toed off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers, then slid under the covers, inching up to Dean.

Dean startled awake at the shift in the mattress and squinted at Sam. "Sam?" he asked softly. "You've got your own bed."

Sam didn't say anything, just gave a small smile, and crept closer to Dean. If Dean had learned all those years ago that sex was something quick and harsh that people took from him, Sam was going to show him different. Sam stroked over the bare skin of Dean's shoulder, down his arm and back up again. Dean was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Keeping his eyes locked on Dean, Sam leaned in and brushed their lips gently together.

Sex with Dean was always push-and-pull, strength against strength, neither one ever giving up control completely. When he'd been with Jess, sex had been completely different. Jess had wanted to feel cherished, protected. Sam thought maybe Dean had never felt like that and maybe that was the problem.

Sam brought his hand up to Dean's cheek, trying to put all of his love, all of his tenderness, into the kiss.

"Sam—what?" Dean sputtered, pushing him back. Sam tried to make sure the only thing in his expression was the depth of his caring. "It's like five in the fucking morning! I know you're a horndog, but you can't be serious."

Sam leaned close again and whispered against Dean's mouth, "Just let me take care of you."

"Oh, for—" Dean pushed Sam back and scrambled out of the bed. "This is about what I said, isn't it. You think I need this?"

Sam sat up and couldn't help noticing the way Dean's hair stuck up on one side.

"I don't believe this," Dean waved his hands in disgust. "What do you think you're going to do—fuck me normal? Let me just give you a minute to let the extreme stupidity of that penetrate your thick skull."

"I thought—"

"I _like_ sex. Sex and I have no problems with each other. I didn't tell you so you'd try and fix me, I told you so you'd quit being weird!" Dean squirmed his way onto the other bed and flopped face down. "Wake me up when it's actually morning."

~*~

Dean was gruff the next morning, but that wasn't that different from usual. Sam didn't really know what to think about all this but it seemed like Dean wanted to sweep it back under the rug. By late afternoon, Sam was watching miles of cornfields go past the window and couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"What did Dad say about it? You know. After."

Dean was looking at the road, not at Sam, but Sam could still see him roll his eyes. "He never really brought it up."

"Never?"

"It's not like it came up," Dean snapped. "Dad would've left my ass on the side of the road if I ever did it again and despite what you think, I'm not that stupid."

Sam let the silence stretch for a couple of miles. "I just don't get it, Dean. Why? I mean, why'd you do it?"

Dean made an exaggerated shrug and his mouth drew into a thin line. "I was an idiot. Now, are we done with the sharing and caring?"

Before Sam could pry any more, Dean had popped in Bachman Turner Overdrive and cranked up the volume. Sam guessed that was all the answer he was ever going to get.

~*~

They fucked that evening. Dean made the first move, which was a good thing since if it had been left up to Sam, it wouldn't have happened. Sam had to fight the urge to be gentle, constantly reminding himself that Dean had never liked gentle. And it was good. Only a small part of Sam's brain kept piping up with images of men who'd used Dean, and it was easy to shut that part up when he looked in his brother's eyes and saw how much he wanted this, wanted Sam. Sam couldn't keep wondering if he was just like all the others to Dean when he saw that.

When they were done, Dean flopped onto his back, breathing deeply. Sam figured he had about a minute before Dean rallied and kicked him out of the bed. Sam rolled onto his side, pushing Dean's shoulder until they were spooned up together. He wound his arm around Dean's waist and tucked his knees behind his brother's.

"Sam, what are you…" Dean mumbled, still not completely with it. Sam kissed the back of his neck in reply. Dean struggled against the embrace half-heartedly, then gave up with a put-upon sigh.

"Dean, there's nothing you could do that would make me leave," Sam whispered into Dean's hair. Dean groaned loudly and smacked Sam's hand, but for the first time, he let him stay.


End file.
